


Night Hurts

by genmitsu



Series: Imagination Infection [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu
Summary: Oswald deals with the fallout of his meeting with  Jim.___Love always makes a fool out of him. Always makes him forget himself and go out of his way for people who, honestly, don’t deserve it. Jim, then Ed, and, God, Jim again. Always. Always Jim, in the end.





	Night Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering, the "hurts" in the title is a noun. Just wanted to clarify this since I've been a bit sleep-deprived and unsure how it reads.

 

 

Oswald crushes the phone to tiniest shards with his heel, stomping on it with more vigour than he expected from himself. It just - it just hurt so deep. Jim, _Jim_ , of all people! The one Oswald never thought would be interested in him, and what a way to find out how wrong he has been! Oswald can’t even cry, something constricting and dry stuck in his throat and blocking his tears. Oh, it would be so easy to cry his heart out, to let all these feelings out - for good! - but he’s unable to. Jim is wedged so deep under his skin he won’t be able to get rid of him without destroying himself in the process.

Love always makes a fool out of him. Always makes him forget himself and go out of his way for people who, honestly, don’t deserve it. Jim, then Ed, and, God, Jim again. Always. Always Jim, in the end.

He looked so good today, too, Oswald remembers irrationally. The black shirt, the collar finally unbuttoned enough to show his neck and even that delicious notch between the clavicles, sleeves rolled up those unfairly attractive forearms. The beige trousers seemed to accentuate all the good features of his hips and legs and… what right did he have, that Jim Gordon, to show up that handsome, to drive Oswald so crazy, just to break his heart?

Was anything he said true? Oswald goes through his messages and he wants to delete those at once, but as soon as he deletes the latest one, he immediately regrets it. He goes back to the beginning, rereading the messages with the kind of masochistic satisfaction, picking at his heart wounds.

Meeting a lady in the bar - a lie, most probably, just to ease him into believing it’s an honest mistake. Who would’ve thought Jim Gordon could be so devious. Him being bi… truth? He is attracted to Oswald, after all, and the tugging at Oswald’s stomach at the thought is best to be ignored. His compliments then… truth? Truth, definitely, because the way his eyes always look Oswald up and down is too appreciative, and God, he needs to stop.

Oswald reads on anyway. Jim so readily took him up on his fantasy, submitted to him, if only in texts, but - could they have had it? Could Oswald really command that infuriating man to do his bidding, at least in the bedroom? The thought thrills him, his cock twitching despite his dark mood, and - oh, that really was, that really _was_ Jim begging for Oswald to come in his mouth, and now Oswald doesn’t doubt that his partner meant all the things he wrote. Jim showed his deeper desires, feeling free in disguise, not forced to hide what he wanted, and…

Oswald palms himself through the fabric of his trousers, getting harder. Jim wanted to go all the way with him too - did he want to fuck Oswald? did he want to get fucked by him? Both thoughts are equally arousing, in their own right, and it shouldn’t work this way, not when Oswald feels heartbroken and betrayed, and now his own body reacting so strongly to the fact that there was some truth between them? This is the ultimate betrayal, Oswald scoffs, but he bites down on his lip and strokes himself almost hatefully, just wishing to bring himself to climax and be _done_ with it, done with his helpless and miserable love for Jim Gordon, done with his degrading himself for this man.

The release is perfunctory, just the logical conclusion of stimulation, and it does nothing, nothing at all for Oswald’s mind except make him feel disgusted. How long will this go on? This… had better stop. Doesn’t matter how handsome Jim is, doesn’t matter that him saying he wanted Oswald made Oswald feel elated and happy for the briefest and most beautiful moment, doesn’t matter that Oswald will probably never stop wanting him. It _has_ to stop.

Oswald drops the phone on the sofa and stands to clean himself up. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror, knowing that haunted look that would greet him otherwise, knowing it’s not the time. He’s still too vulnerable. He would crack and call Jim and tell him the offer is still on the table, and he’d end up hating himself in the end if Jim agrees.

No. Jim either has to disappear from his life - fat chance, that… and no, Oswald will not kill him. That means that Oswald has to come to terms with the way their relationship changed. To face the detective and not think of the what-ifs. To forbid himself to feel so strongly about him, to not allow it to cloud his judgement. Oswald has to prioritize himself, and not Jim, when they interact. And maybe these feelings will, if not go away, but dull, with time.

He returns to his room and tries to find some activity. The ledgers are forgotten, he can’t concentrate on them, not right now. He picks up a book and tries to read, but he ends up turning pages and realizing he hasn’t read a word. Sleep is not enticing in the slightest, either. He needs some distraction. Something to utilize his energies to the fullest, leaving nothing for thoughts of his miserable love life. Something violent.

Oswald looks himself over, checking that he looks decent, and goes downstairs. His usual thugs are still awake, playing cards in the living room, and he beckons them to follow him to the car with a short jerk of his head.

“Where to, boss?” the driver asks, starting the engine.

“To Palomo.”

Oswald doesn’t know yet what he would do once he gets there, but there’s something fishy going on and it needs dealing with, and it should distract him from thinking about running back to Jim and doing something he would definitely regret. The night city flashes way too fast before his eyes, the lights blurring into a single line, a writing on the black streets saying he just wasn’t good enough, and Oswald practically hates Gotham tonight for making him feel this way.

The guys inside the Palomo club weren’t expecting a visit this late in the night and out of the usual dates and it amuses Oswald slightly to see them scurrying about. The squad leader, Michael, looks just the right amount confused and guilty for Oswald to know he’s done something on the side - and messed up.

“Didn’t expect you today, boss,” he says, scratching his nape nervously.

“Right,” Oswald says. “But you should have. It’s this lack of foresight on your part that makes me doubt the decision of appointing you a squad leader.”

He taps his cane in irritation, looking Michael over. He was a bright soldier, not a thug, he always had a good head on his shoulders which earned him this promotion, so…

“Now this is a chance for you to come clean, Michael. Because I _will_ know what’s going on with the money here, and if I don’t hear it from you, well…” Oswald smiles his most unpleasant smile for him. “Let’s say you won’t survive the consequences.”

Michael gulps visibly, blanching. His hands are twitchy and his spine bends minutely telling Oswald that his judgement wasn’t wrong and there’s a smart brain in that head, complete with a good sense for self-preservation.

“I swear, boss, I didn’t know it would turn out this way,” he blurts out. “I thought it was just a small thing, a bit of extra cash in my pocket, but they wanted more!”

“They?” Oswald offers, raising an eyebrow.

“The Capos,” Michael says in a defeated voice.

Oh this just becomes better and better. The Capos, the same faithless bunch that preferred Sofia to him, were making a move against him, now, when he wasn’t at his best position to retaliate. He has to agree their timing was perfect, but now that he knows… oh, are they in for a surprise.

“Tell me everything from the beginning,” he nods to Michael and settles in the chair. Perhaps there’s no need to get violent, yet.

“It began while you were still at Arkham, boss. Most guys thought you wouldn’t be coming back and it was chaos here, so I had to make some… bad decisions,” Michael says, looking at Oswald guiltily. “The Capos weren’t happy that you still had control over alcohol supply, and they pressed hard to change that, so I offered to… sell it to them for a cheaper price if they give me a ten percent cut. I figured it would allow me to keep this place and I’d make up for it by raising prices on the stuff we sell to the customers, and we did, for a while, but just before you got out, they…”

Oswald nods, prompting him to continue. The Capos always disliked how he took over Maroni’s business, somehow convinced they were entitled to its pieces - they, who never did as much as try to wring it from his hands! - so it was no surprise they tried to coerce it from his officer.

“They demanded we reconsider the terms of the deal. And I knew it was only a temporary solution anyway, just until you get back, and told them it couldn’t be done… So they took my family and told me I’d better give in.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this, Michael?” he asks in his best stern voice.

“I… didn’t think you’d care, boss.”

Truly a good head. But while Oswald doesn’t care for them personally, he does care for what precedent this situation might set if not dealt with accordingly. And what the state of morale in his empire is as well, and when officers get attacked and not receive protection from their boss...

“The attack on your family is an attack on you and, by extension, on me. I do not care to allow anyone, Capo or not, to think they can get away with touching what’s mine,” Oswald frowns at Michael who looks less tense now and hopeful, the fool. But killing him off will not solve this, while saving would cement his loyalty forever. “When do they want an answer from you?”

“By the time we get a new shipment. They said they wouldn’t harm my family until then,” Michael shifts uneasily, then mumbles “Boss, will you--”

“Quiet!” Oswald interrupts, tapping his cane on the floor for emphasis, and the man shuts up immediately, assuming his quiet stance once again.

The new shipment is coming soon, which means they only have a couple of days to gather the necessary info and form a plan. The Capos are probably not expecting this, but he should also lay a false trail for them and their spies. His information network is not as good now as it has been before his second time at Arkham, but he does have something to work with.

“Michael,” he says, standing up, and the man looks at him with utmost attention. It’s a little bit amusing, so Oswald allows himself a smile. “You will proceed as always. Leave dealing with the Capos to me, and I promise that you will see your family again.”

“Boss!” Michael is practically vibrating, and it looks like he might do something stupid and uncalled for, like kissing his boss’ hand, so Oswald raises his palm to quell him. He really doesn’t want _anyone_ touching him right now.

“Patience,” he tells him. “Do try not to let on that I am on it. If the Capos approach you before then, tell them you’ve been chewed out and punished for recent losses.”

“I will, boss! Thank you, boss!”

“One more thing, Michael. Come closer,” Oswald says evenly, and when the man approaches, he punches him in the face as hard as he can, the rage at Jim, at himself, at this fool of an underling fueling him. Michael staggers and almost falls, cupping his cheek, and he looks at Oswald with a weird sort of respect.

“You will not go behind my back again, Michael, is that _clear?_ ” he asks, his voice cold and unforgiving.

“Yes, boss,” Michael answers, bending his neck as the bruise blooms on his face. “Thank you, boss.”

“Good,” Oswald nods and walks out of the room.

His knuckles sting all through the ride back home, even though they were protected by his glove, but he threw all of his mass, all of his frustrations and anger in that punch, and it felt good to let it out in this way as well. When he makes it back to his room and takes off the gloves, the skin on his knuckles is red and damaged, stinging as he takes care of it, but this kind of pain is familiar, almost welcome. Better than… the other kind.

Oswald notices his phone blinking, forgotten on the sofa, and picks it up. His heart thumps madly in his chest, almost unbalancing him, when he sees three missed calls from Jim, from his real personal number. One just after he’d left and the other two no less than fifteen minutes ago, with hardly a pause between them. Then a text message.

“Oswald,” it reads, “I’ve been a complete bastard to you, but I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Never wanted to-- Oswald huffs with indignation. So what was that little foray into intimacy with him, if not a cruel joke? Was Jim really so goddamn daft he never--

He types up a reply and throws his phone on the sofa. So much for getting Jim out of his head. He should - he should ignore him. Ignore him and his aching heart and everything that leads to the possibility of them meeting again. He has his hands full as it is. Love… is unnecessary for him.

 

Jim spent the whole evening glued to his phone even long after he sent the text. He wanted to make it right so much, but then he gets a reply and his heart sinks. The new text from Oswald is brief and cutting.

“Go to hell, Jim.”

 

 

 


End file.
